


I'm Still in Love with You

by Kavi Leighanna (kleighanna)



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: F/M, totally turned smutty, tumblr prompt response
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-05-06
Packaged: 2018-01-23 19:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1576133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kleighanna/pseuds/Kavi%20Leighanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's in love with her, but she's thousands of miles away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked:Rossi saying to Hotch 'you're still in love with Emily aren't you?' Or something along those lines 

"You’re still in love with her, aren’t you?" 

Hotch doesn’t turn, doesn’t even acknowledge he’s heard Rossi’s voice, but both men know better. Both men know that the question isn’t a question, it’s a heartbreaking honest statement and they both know it haunts Hotch every day. 

The woman he could have had.

"There’s still time."

Except there’s not, not really. They don’t have her for long enough, she’s not going to be staying. She has a life in England now, a great flat, even friends from what he hears. He can’t tell her, can’t ask of her what it would. It’s not his place anymore. 

He watches her with the team, the way she ruffles Reid’s hair and leans into Morgan. Everything feels better with her here, like there’s a rounding out of the team. Like she’s where she’s supposed to be. Her head comes up, meets his gaze and he can almost hear her making her excuses, slipping around the desks to take the stairs two at a time. 

"Morgan said something about a bar?"

He offers her the best smile he can and knows it’s not enough. And Rossi, the traitor, makes his own excuses (“packing up”? Packing up what?), leaving him and Emily. 

"Everything okay?" she asks quietly, and he hates that even after a year and a half she can see right through him. She always did, when she was in DC. Always knew when it was time to take a break, drag him out for a coffee, when he needed brunch or an evening to himself. They’d been so very close when she’d been living here, before and after her ‘death’. But now, even if she’s still feeling connected, he feels the space between them. 

"I’m always okay."

She snorts. “Okay, Tony Stark, you want to try that one again?” 

"I think its the Doctor, actually."

She whistles, impressed, then comes to stand right beside him. She braces herself on his office window and just watches him. She knows he hates it, but they both know she’s also stubbornly patient. She’ll sit there until she has to leave if he lets her. 

"You like London?"

She shrugs. “Of course i do. It’s London.”

He nods slowly. “And you’re happy there?”

"Yes. Hotch, what’s this about?" 

He’s tipped his hand, he knows. Even so, he tries so hard to keep it off his face. “I’m glad you’re happy.”

She huffs, this little thing he’s always found so damn adorable. “You’re avoiding the question. What’s going on?” 

He pauses, thinks very carefully about his next response. “It’s good to have you back.”

She reaches out, catches his hand and squeezes. “You called.”

She makes it sound so easy, like she’s just waiting for a better offer, something that would make her come back. Like if he asked, she’d jump on a plane, consequences be damned. But he won’t, of course. He can’t. 

"Hotch?"

It’s written on his face he knows, the anguish and the idea that he has to give her back. There’s nothing he can do about it and he hates it, doesn’t know why. Why her? Why now? Why was this not a problem when she’d been here full time, but now that they have her back for a couple of hours, he can’t seem to hide all of the emotions she invokes in him? 

"Can you stay?" The words are out of his mouth before he even realizes he’s going to say it. The same way he realizes belatedly that he’s holding her hand to his arm. He can feel the desperation though, the way it crawls up his spine and settles as a painful knot in his chest. He knows his hand is tightening on his, maybe even crushing it, but it barely seems to faze her.

"As long as I can," she promises, and he thinks he must be imagining the turmoil in her own dark eyes. She’s happy in London. It wouldn’t hurt her to be here. It wouldn’t look like it’s breaking her.

He doesn’t realize he’s pulling her in until he’s tucking her head into his neck, until he’s weaving his fingers through her ponytail. The elastic loosens beneath his fingers until it falls from her hair, leaving it cascading over her shoulders as he buries his nose in the strands. He hates this feeling, like he can’t let go, like he just wants to meld himself into her. It’s worse now than it’s ever been, than the times he thought she’d been dead, than letting her go after she’d recovered in the hospital.

"Hey," she murmurs and surprises the hell out of him when she nuzzles her nose against his cheek. "What’s going on?"

She sounds worried, but she’s wrapped herself around him, her arms around his waist, a leg between his. He can feel the words sliding up his throat, choking him, making it hard to breathe, and he thinks he makes a sort of desperate noise because her arms tighten around him, like she thinks he’s going to break apart.

He uses the tangle of his fingers in her hair to tip her head back and brushes his mouth fleetingly over hers. Her breath catches, and she tenses for a split second before she sways into him. He takes it as permission and kisses her for real, revelling in the whimper she releases. He’s been dreaming of this for so long, the taste of her, the feel of her beneath his hands. He slides his palms over the soft blue sweater she wears, spans them across her back. He tucks her as close as possible while he plunders her mouth, explores her taste and groans when her hands dig into his shirt. 

Eventually they do break apart, panting and gripping each other tightly. Now it’s his turn to curl around her, to wrap her up in his arms as best he can and still press his forehead to hers. She manages to get her hands between them, presses them against his cheeks. “What was that?”

He hugs her tighter, has to slide his hand up beneath the curtain of her hair, make sure she can’t move away, can’t leave him. God, it’s pathetic, but he needs her. He misses her so desperately and clings to the little contact they now do have. “I want you to stay.”

The air she releases shakes and shimmers between them and her eyes close. She shifts her head, drops it to his shoulder. He buries his nose in her hair again, refusing to pull away, to put any distance between them. 

"What are we supposed to do?"

"I don’t know," he admits, because he still won’t ask her to give up her happy life. "Just… stay."

She sighs again and silence follows. “I can call Clyde, see if I can extend my stay. Take some vacation days.”

"Yes," he says immediately. "Emily, yes."

"I still have to go back," she warns him. "I still have a life there."

He can’t help the way his hands grip her, can’t help the tensing of his muscles. She nuzzles closer and he’s not sure if it’s for her or for him. 

"I can’t just upend my life again," she whispers. "Not even for you."

He swallows. “I’m in love with you.”

"I know," she says and that’s a shock. She cups his cheek. "We’ll talk about it, if I can get the days."

"No matter what," he pushes. Because he can’t just let her go now, not now that he knows, that she knows. 

"It’ll be hell, Aaron, to do anything long distance."

"Not when it matters." And this matters. This is his life. This is more important than anything else. 

She searches his face. He lets it all show because she’s seen it already, because apparently he cannot keep secrets from her. He puts it all out there, how much he needs her, how much he wants her, the desperation he feels at having her here and knowing she needs to leave. 

"Okay," she says finally. "Okay, we’ll talk. No matter what."

So he kisses her again, because he can, and because she’s right there and how can he not? How can he not take the chance now that she’s here?

"Come on," she says softly, cupping his cheek when they break apart. "Let’s go celebrate. We’ll talk after."

He doesn’t like that, he wants to get it all done now, but he can’t keep her from everyone, no matter how much he just wants to hole up with her - preferably in his bed without clothing. But he can wait. 

After all, he’s waited this long for his new happy ending. A couple of hours can’t make a difference.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shelskid replied to your post:Rossi saying to Hotch ‘you’re still in love with Emily aren’t you?’ Or something along those lines 

She gets the approval. Of course she does. He thinks Easter’s in love with her, too, not that Hotch can blame him. She has that effect on people. But the point is, she gets it, so her six hours becomes a couple of days. 

And they spend most of it in bed. 

Without clothes. 

She is something he’s never seen, and he doesn’t think that it’s just how much he utterly adores her. Even her scars are beautiful as he maps her body time and time again. He cannot get enough of her, not that he’s surprised. 

He wakes in the early hours of the afternoon (they’ve had a busy morning) to her skin pressed against hers and he pulls her tighter. She groans and curls into him. It’s adorable and irresistible and he can’t keep himself from pressing his mouth to the soft skin of her shoulders. Her muscles liquify and she tilts her head to give him more access to her neck. It’s a thrill to find out that she cannot resist him either. 

She hasn’t shared his sentiment, hasn’t told him that she loves him too, but he doesn’t much care. In fact, it doesn’t matter because she’s here. She’s with him, beneath him, around him and he cannot really care. He has the satin of her skin beneath his palms and he can feel the way she trembles against him as his hand trails down his back. 

He does not care. 

The hand that slides down her back grips an ass cheek, spreading her open while his other hand pulls her leg across his stomach. Her breath catches then, long before his fingers have trailed to her glorious centre. And she’s already wet, like the anticipation is killing her or like she’s been dreaming of it. His fingers play against her, dipping in and out, circling her clit until her hips are moving against him. 

"God, you’re insatiable," she moans into his neck. 

"I am?" he growls, slipping a finger into her clutching heat. She flutters around him immediately, like she’s just shattered around him. Her body clutches at him as he withdraws too and he groans into her ear as he adds another finger. "You’re already soaking."

She moans, sliding across his body even has his fingers thrust into her. It pushes her higher and higher and she rocks down on his fingers. When she whimpers, gets that little wrinkle in her brow he adds a third and gets a whining keen for his efforts. It makes him chuckle and he’s pretty sure that if she had the brain power, she’d be glaring. But she doesn’t, she’s so focused on the climax he can see building in her face. 

It’s surreal to watch, he thinks, watching this woman shatter above him. Her head goes back and her body shakes for a moment before she sags and he almost has to catch her as she collapses against her. 

"God," she breathes, her fists clenching against his shoulders as she manages to get control of her body. She lifts up and catches his chuckle with her mouth, settling in for a long, luxurious kiss. "You’re putting your best argument forward."

He hums, stroking his hands over her body. He can’t help himself, even as she jolts and shudders from overstimulation. She lets his mouth slide down her neck, lets him dig his teeth into the soft skin of her throat. She’s marked everywhere now from their days together and he feels the desperation rise up within him every time he sees them. He feels it now as he pulls away and sees the red mark against her throat. He groans hands on her hips so he can slide her hips over him, pushing up at the same time. 

She gasps as he brushes against her just right. “Inside,” she says. “Now, Aaron.”

He shivers at his given name, so very different coming from her mouth in that desperate tone. It’s been like this for days, the way they can’t wait, the way they can’t make each other wait. He slides within her with a groan and she echoes it with a sound that almost sends him careening over the edge. He can’t get over the feel of her, how tight she is as she shifts on top of him. 

"Emily," he all but begs, pushing against her hips. She lifts and falls with him, makes such a desperate noise when he thrusts back against her on the downstroke that he rewards her with short, sharp thrusts just to hear the noise. The thing is, it’s also the perfect angle for her and soon that sound turns into little gasps. He slows down then, longer slower thrusts and she whines at him for it, her eyes fluttering open to glare down at him. 

"God, you’re cruel." But her head tilts back and he gets the most glorious view of her. He lets go of her hips, traces every mark he’s left until he’s cupped a breast in his hand. He rolls her nipple between his fingers, kneads her breast and slides his fingers along it’s sensitive underside. Her breath speeds up again, has his own breath speeding up with her and this time he doesn’t stop her from sailing over the edge. 

As she comes down, he rolls her over, slides his hands beneath her shoulders for leverage as he thrusts into her. She still clutches around him, still flutters, and it’s enough to have him following her with a groan. 

Her fingers are stroking along his back when he comes back to himself and he presses a gentle kiss to the skin beneath her ear as he withdraws. “I love you.”

He says it every time, when they’ve calmed and settled and he doesn’t hold it against her when she doesn’t say it back. Instead, he’s been merely cuddling her closer, hoping that his mere touch will help convince her that he’s telling the truth. Not that he necessarily thinks she doesn’t trust him, but he’s not sure she believes him, that she thinks it’s real. 

This time though, she clings to him, wraps herself around him and buries her face in his neck the same way she had in his office just days ago. He shushes her out of reflex, crooning in her ear even though she’s not crying. But this obvious overwhelming feeling she’s experiencing now doesn’t make sense to him. 

"You really do," she whispers after a moment, and he actually has to get her to repeat herself. 

"Of course I do," he murmurs back. "How could I not?" 

Her breath shakes and she keeps hanging on, her nails digging into his skin. He has no intention of letting her go, no intention of releasing her. He’ll keep her as long as she’ll let him. 

"I don’t know what to do," she admits, finally relaxing her arms so he can actually get his eyes on her face. She looks so broken, so torn but there’s another emotion there, something lurking, something beautiful. He strokes her hair back with one hand, letting his fingers slide gently along the edge of her ear. 

"God, Aaron. I love you. I do. I have for a long time and there were just… There’s always been so much in the way. And now there’s thousands of miles between us and two really big jobs and Jack…"

"It doesn’t matter," he tells her impulsively. He doesn’t want it to, even though it definitely does. 

"I wish it didn’t," she tells him. "Neither of us can give up what we love."

"So lets do this." 

Her head drops back. “We can’t.”

"No," he says. "This."

She gasps as he slides along her, just to make her feel it. The whimper is unexpected, even surprising and he grunts, doing it again because he can. She swears and arches and he watches her as she rubs herself against him. Eventually, because Jesus, the woman’s enthralling, he slides his hand between them and works her over her third peak of this particular round. 

"That," he breathes when her eyes flutter open, aware he sounds just utterly wrecked. And this time, it has nothing to do with a spectacular orgasm. "Just… This."

"That’s not fair," she says, cupping his cheek in her palm. "Aaron that’s so not fair to either of us."

"I don’t care," he tells her, capturing her mouth. "I don’t care, Emily. I just want you."

He knows the second he has her, sees the shift in her face, feels the way her body turns to liquid beneath him.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

Her face breaks into a smile, this wonderful shining thing that makes his heart hurt in all sorts of good ways. 

She nods. “Okay.”


End file.
